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Nate attends a fantasy football draft so you don’t have to.

That’s right, friends and neighbors. Even after last year’s terrible screed against fantasy football, I decided to attend the draft held at my girlfriend’s parents’ house. Why did I do this? Well, I could say it was in the interest of journalism or in service of mankind. That, however, would be a lie. I did it because it involved both free food and free booze, and because the Interdiction chapter of GTA San Andreas is kicking my ass.

That said, I do hope to better mankind through this blog (As well as boost my book sales. Check out the fucking bookstore, why don’t you?), so I have decided to post a series of observations from my day at the fantasy football draft.

1. The smoked turkey is excellent!

2. There are actually two drafts going on today: the guys’ and the ladies’. The ladies are playing fantasy football this year because they got tired of hearing about it last year. Reports that most of the guys spent six months yelling “Game Day!” during orgasm are unsubstantiated.

3. Personally, I would never yell “Game Day!” during orgasm. I find “Sorry, I really thought I was going to last longer this time!” to be more fitting.

4. The guys have started their draft by awarding imaginary athletic awards. On a scale of one to ten, that’s a lame score of six-point-five.

5. Two of the ladies are teleconferencing. Another has designated a guy as their draft agent. Four on the lame scale, but a nine on the I hope you have a good cell-plan scale.

6. Two men are wearing football jerseys. To clarify, I have gone another year without anybody wearing armor to my Friday night Dungeons and Dragons game. We have also not given out imaginary rewards. Well, maybe that +2 Greataxe I just received counts.

7. Fuck you. I have a +2 Greataxe. Take your starting quarterback and stick him up your ass.

8. I walk away from the draft to hang out with my girlfriend and her two female friends. All of them are swimming. A majority are in bikinis. For perspective, here’s another version of these events…

Guys: Dude! We’re gonna go watch porn!

Me: Enjoy! I’m gonna go have sex.

Guys: Whatever, dude! Jeff just came on his stomach!

9. The ladies are rushing through their draft much fast than the guys. They have, however, decided that every other lady in the draft is either a bitch and/or a whore.

10. I fail to convince any of the guys to draft Icky Woods.

11. I do, however, convince all the guys that the ladies have taken a five minute break for a pillow fight.

12. The teleconference ladies realize how many cell minutes they’ve used and urge the rest of the ladies to “Hurry the fuck up.”

13. The rest of the ladies decide the teleconferencing ladies are “Skank ho’s.”

14. I call the “Skank ho’s” on call waiting and arrange a late night rendezvous.

15. I should mention that by this point I have eaten six turkey sandwiches and have moved on to the roast beef.

16. One of the guys jumps in the pool in an attempt to kill himself after losing a draft pick. He later claims to be “cooling off.”

17. The ladies have resorted to fisticuffs.

18. Nevermind. They’re making out. Hells yeah!

19. Ooh! So are the guys!

20. Back from the bathroom. I’m drained.

21. Back in the bathroom. Kick it in, second wind!

22. That horrific coughing sounds was not me. And it certainly wasn’t from a particularly strong hit of sweet, sweet weed.

23. The ladies finish the final round of their draft. The guys have roughly fifteen more rounds to go.

24. I finish coughing.

25. The ladies finally get around to their pillow fight. If by pillow fight you mean “naked bubble kiss time.”

26. Ooh! The guys are also having “naked bubble kiss time.”

27. I spend ten minutes confronting my possible bisexuality. I do this in the bathroom.

28. I’m drained once again.

29. The draft is over. Shawna, myself, and a few others spend about an hour making up naughty player names from the draft stickers that are left. Among these names are Craig Balls and Tony Toefucker. Shit Rod Smith is also a favorite. He plays for the Cincinnati Gramatica. Or possibly the Buffalo Nuts.

30. I give serious thought to playing fantasy football next year. I have already decided my team with either be the I-just-shit-on-the-floor’s or the Please-just-stab-me-in-the-goddamn-eye’s.

So there you go, ladies and gents. This is what happens at a fantasy football draft. Last I heard, the two teleconferencing ladies were looking at their cell phone bills and screaming “What the fuck?!” The guys are still asking me what the women in swimsuits looked like. They’re quite jealous.